


How You Remember Her

by nerdsherpa



Series: A Hole in the Roof: Haleth Lavellan/Commander Cullen [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish Elves, F/M, Hero Worship, Interracial Relationship, Trespasser, Warden Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdsherpa/pseuds/nerdsherpa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Inquisitor Lavellan and her husband realized that they ship Alistair/Mahariel, and Alistair has a very embarasssing time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How You Remember Her

"I hope Leliana only told you the stories that make me seem impressive." After finishing the sentence, the King of Ferelden blanched — actually blanched — and quickly added "And I hope Morrigan didn't tell you any stories at all."

It was the first thing he'd said after they were done exchanging the customary greeting (i.e., decided upon a month ago after rigorous discussion between Josephine and several diplomats) between the sitting monarch of Ferelden and the leader of an independent, politically neutral but vaguely Chantry associated military force such as the Inquisition. That is, when meeting semi-informally at a sort of Ferelden ball particular to the Landsmeet where all participants simply mingled over food and wine and music. And _after_ having been formally presented to the royal presence earlier in the proceedings.

That was the moment that Haleth had realized that her advisor's warning about King Alistair Theirin's casual attitude of address was entirely unexaggerated. Fortunately, the King turned his attention away from her before it could become clear that she hadn't the faintest idea how to respond.

"And you must be Commander Cullen, good to finally meet you! Ferelden is proud that one of its sons ranks so highly in the Inquisition."

If he'd actually had feathers to puff up Haleth was certain Cullen couldn't have looked more pleased. His nervous anticipation over coming face to face with his own monarch had been building for days.

"Th-thank you, your majesty, the honor is entirely mine, though we have met before, actually," he stammered.

Haleth could tell that he immediately regretted the end of that sentence, but he was hiding it well. Josephine's tutelage, as usual, was paying off, easing even her blunt Commander into his new diplomatic role as Inquisitorial spouse.

"I doubt your majesty would remember," he valiantly attempted to recover, "it was in the — well. It was in Kinloch Hold."

"Ah," Theirin's brows knit with what appeared to be completely genuine concern. "The Circle Tower. I'm — I'm afraid we met so many Templars there—"

"It is of no matter, your majesty." Cullen's relief barely showed. She couldn't wait to tell Josephine. "Truly, it is something of a comfort. I was a different man then."

And Haleth thought she had gotten her footing in the soft sand of this strange verbal arena when the King's face crooked into a candid, self-deprecating smile, and he said:

"So was I."

Mind racing for any subject in all the libraries of Thedas she could possibly follow that statement with — and with a small voice in her head insisting that "The Circle Tower" and "Kinloch Hold" had a significance to _something_ important — she completely forgot not to gasp when she realized the answer to both was the same.

"You walked with Mahariel!"

The next thing she knew, both of her hands had flown to cover her mouth, the real one and — more awkwardly — the cunningly articulated and beautifully inlaid wooden one that Thom had promised was only the first. But the king just laughed.

"You want to know what she was like?"

"Your majesty, I—"

"No, no, of course! After all, I'm just a king. _She_ saved the world," he smiled. "Mahariel was an incredible warrior and a good woman, brave and kind. I like to think I could have made the sacrifice she made, but I'll honestly never know."

Cursing inwardly, Haleth desperately tried to keep her disappointment from showing, knowing she was doing nothing of the sort. "Yes, Lady Morrigan and Lel— Divine Victoria said similar things."

She could tell the king was staring at her. But, once more, she found she was reading the man wrong.

"Oh, of _course_ ," he said slowly. "You're Dalish! I mean— of _course_ you're Dalish, that's obvious, but… Lyta was Dalish."

* * *

Alistair looked at the woman before him, really looked for the first time, as she fidgeted with her prosthetic hand, running her fingers over the emblem on the back of its palm. He'd been at the heart of enough stories whose complete truth would never be known to anyone who wasn't there, and he was certain the one about how the Inquisitor had lost her arm was the same.

She couldn't have been more than twenty during the Blight. Just a Dalish girl when Ferelden fell apart and was sewn back together by a Dalish woman. By Lyta.

Of _course_ she wanted to know, really know, about her. Of course she…

Of course, she was staring at him because he'd just expressed surprise that the sharp-eared, tattooed woman in front of him was _Dalish_.

"Lyta loved dogs!" he blurted.

Oh, Maker's _Breath_. Well, don't let it end there, you _idiot_.

"And she was funny. Well, maybe she just laughed at my jokes."

Lavellan blinked at him.

Time to start over, then.

"I'm sorry, Inquisitor," he sighed, "I mistook you. It's just that usually when people ask about the Hero of Ferelden they only want to hear about…" he waved his hand, searchingly.

"...The Hero of Ferelden?" her Commander suggested tentatively.

" _Exactly_. Just let me figure out where to begin."

"Your majesty," she answered immediately, "I don't wish to impo—"

" _No_." He interrupted, emphasizing the word with the best "excuse me, king?" manner he could muster. "It is not an imposition."

He didn't like to use the king voice. It was just so good at getting people to listen to you.

* * *

Haleth watched the ruler of Ferelden knit his brows and take a breath.

"She became a Grey Warden to escape death; she didn't choose it in the way I did. _That's_ a part a lot of the songs leave out. But she _never_ wavered in our path to the Archdemon. Even though… even though she told me once that if she'd known, if she'd been told everything that becoming a Warden entails before her Joining, she might have chosen to stay with her people and… Well. She might have chosen differently."

Theirin's voice, which had been as stern and serious as she'd heard him yet, softened. "I don't think she liked to talk to me about it. The Wardens were my first real family, and — and I was mourning a friend for much of that year. I didn't realize just how much until things were practically over. I think being with her _kept_ me from realizing it.

"I mean being _around_ her, of course," he corrected himself, laughing short and breathless. "Because she was kind." He shook his head. "I said that already. She was kind to _me_. I mean, _haha_ , she laughed at _my jokes_."

He winced and covered his face with his hand. "I — I'm not making a lot of sense."

Haleth had not known what to expect from King Alistair Theirin, but it certainly wasn't that he would describe a few small notes of Warden Mahariel's life and they would resonate so deeply with her.

The hero who'd put kings on the thrones of Orzammar and Ferelden, who'd discovered the ashes of Andraste herself and stopped a Blight almost before it could start — she'd had doubts. She'd longed for her people. There had been times when she'd wanted nothing more than to throw off the task that had been laid upon her.

Haleth felt as if every fiber of her soul was thrumming to a childish but no less profound refrain: _She was like me. She was like me._

She was distracted by a pang of annoyance, as Cullen laced his fingers with hers. Now that it was her only hand she found the gesture to be constricting, when idly used, and he knew that. But she had little time to consider as Theirin, who did not appear to have noticed, began speaking again.

"When I tell people that Lyta was brave," he said slowly, as if articulating the idea out loud for the first time, "what I mean is that she had an amazing capacity to choose what was right over what she might have wanted. She convinced me that accepting my birthright would be the best for Ferelden, even if it meant that we— Even if it wasn't something I wanted then," he concluded softly.

Cullen squeezed her hand insistently. Really, now what was he —

"She always talked about taking me to meet her clan," the king continued, his eyes on something very far away. "I did in the end, of course. But you can't really get to know people after you've just presided over their cousin's funeral."

Unlike her husband, Haleth had had years of experience in playing politics. She kept her eyes from widening and her breath from quickening in realization, and instead she gripped his hand like a drowning sailor.

And then Alistair Theirin locked his eyes with hers, honesty writ openly on his face.

"I think of her every time a matter of the Dalish or the Alienages crosses my desk, and I think she _knew_ that that would happen. Her people, _your_ people, are Fereldans as well. I wouldn't know that, if she hadn't taught me. If I hadn't met her I would be a worse king.

"Well — if I hadn't met her I wouldn't be king at _all_." He cocked his head to one side and grinned. "And we'd probably all be dead from darkspawn. But I see Queen Anora has made her reappearance. Thank you, Inquisitor, for the opportunity to discuss an old friend," he said as he stepped away.

"Your Majesty King Alistair!" She tore her fingers away from Cullen's and nearly put her hand on a royal arm, remembering herself just in time. The king stopped anyway, looking back with an unreadable expression.

"I— I'm sorry, your majesty. But if I've come to know anything since the Inquisition was refounded, it is how few people know what it is like to have a life that becomes history while you are still living it. History resists…" _Stop fidgeting with your arm, Haleth._ "It resists... complications, and far too soon it will be the only way I'll ever be known. The people closest to me, the ones who know _my_ life and not the history that's being made of it, I— They—" _And stop babbling._

She swallowed and took a breath.

"I cherish them very deeply. I know Warden Mahariel would feel the same way about how you remember her."

"Oh." Theirin stood stock still and flushed — actually flushed, "Thank you, I— _Thank you_ , Inquisitor."

* * *

Andraste be praised for balconies, Cullen thought, where no one would notice two grown adults grinning like children.

"Warden Mahariel…" She hissed through her fingers.

"...and the king of Ferelden!" he finished.

Haleth's eyes widened even more. "But he _wasn't_ king when they met. He was— And she w— They were just two Grey Wardens. Two lovers standing against the Blight."

Cullen exhaled slowly. "Maker's _breath_."

"If Varric wrote a book about it," she said solemnly, "libraries would spontaneously combust."

When they'd recovered from laughing, they were both leaning against the parapet. "The greatest Dalish hero of this age," Haleth said, thickly, "and she loved a human."

He reached out instinctively to put his hand on hers, only for his fingers to meet smooth wood, cooled by the night air. Her sleeve covered the arm to the wrist, hiding all the the figures carved into it — a raven, a quill, a bull, a book, and so on — except for his lion. It was the first diplomatic function she'd worn it to since it had arrived unexpectedly in Skyhold, with a note from Ranier.

It only took a moment to pull her in as close as he could, and still it felt too long. "Thank the _Maker_ you didn't have to die to stop Corypheus."

He felt her shiver. "I can't imagine having to choose between you and the welfare of an entire country."

"Or the welfare of elves," he added.

Then he sighed. "With all our preparations for Arlathven, I do sometimes worry."

She pulled away to examine his face. "About what?"

" _Ahhh_ ," he shrugged. "That your case to the Keepers about what you've seen, about Solas' intentions, will be… undermined. By us."

She had already started shaking her head before he had even finished. "No. _Never_. The Exalted March on the Dales was sparked because _elvhen_ and humans couldn't even conceive that we might come to love each other. And if the Avvar hadn't summoned Hakkon, the friendship between Inquisitor Ameridan and Emperor Drakon might have stopped it entirely. Shartan followed Andraste — perhaps even _loved_ her — and it led us out of bondage!"

He flinched, slightly, as the fingertips of her wooden arm swiped past his nose.

"Sorry," she sighed, bringing her hands firmly to her sides and the volume of her voice down, "I still haven't got the hang of gesticulating with it, I suppose. And, truthfully… I used to worry, in that first year. But not after all we've come to know."

"It's too bad you can't tell them about Mahar—"

"And it's beside the point anyway! Will some grey-haired elder throw our marriage in my face at Arlathven? Probably!" She scowled, jabbing him in the chest with her right hand for emphasis, "but gods above, I am allowed at least one selfish thing in my life!"

He put his arms around her again as her voice fell to a grumble, trying not to laugh.

"That grey-haired elder won't know how lucky they are that the Inquisition still exists and this Dalish woman remains at its head," she grumbled, and after a final huff, she leaned her head against his chest. "I don't think I could have carried on as Inquisitor without you, _ma'vhenan_. Not after the Exalted Council."

"You could," he kissed her forehead, smiling. "But I am happy to be your selfish thing."

"We should go back in," she said, not moving even slightly.

"Mm'hm," he agreed, doing the same.

Out of the ballroom, the air was clear and cool, and the view of Denerim — dust and chimney smoke and all — excellent. Cullen had had little cause to visit the city in his life, but it always felt familiar when he was there. "Base nationalism" unbefitting the inner council of the Inquisition, Josephine would have told him.

"The Hero of Ferelden and King Alistair Theirin," he breathed.

"A young woman from the Dalish clans," she looked up at him, smiling fondly, "and her gallant former Templar."

* * *

Alistair took his wife's arm, giving her her a kiss on the cheek, and as he did so he whispered " _Save me_."

Anora smiled winsomely in acknowledgement of a passing guest's curtsey. "Has Arl Bryland been trying to trap you into listening to another of his war stories?" She asked so that only he could hear.

"Let's just say that if we have to go through another round of rumors about my preference," he grit his teeth, "for long-eared women, we'll know who to blame. _Me_."

She steered them in a direction that intersected with the fewest sightlines and ranges of hearing, and effortlessly made their heading seem entirely coincidental. "It was more than a decade ago, Alistair, I'm sure we won't be turning elven 'chambermaids' out of your office again. Who were you talking to?"

"The Inquisitor. I can't imagine that she'd gossip, but her Commander was also listening to my nonsense."

Anora patted his hand. "I think you'll be safe, considering that Inquisitor Lavellan _married_ her Commander half a year ago."

Alistair blinked, losing half a step in their slow perambulation. "How could I forget that? We sent them that cheese wheel as big as a small child."

"You just stopped yourself from wheeling around to find them in the crowd, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"I'm very proud."

Alistair found himself smiling, and knew exactly why. He murmured, "Inquisitor Lavellan and her _human_ comman—"

A visiting Tyrna and her husband drifted close enough to require acknowledgement and polite greetings.

"Maker take me, Anora," Alistair groaned when they'd escaped, "I'm spent for the evening. At this rate someone will ask me about the Temple of Sacred Ashes and I'll actually start _telling them_."

"Then fear not, my lord," she answered, hiding a smile from everyone but him, "for I am here with a summons: The 'Archdemon' wants a story before bed and she insists that I don't 'do the voices' well enough."

" _Maker_ , I love you — and you don't, you know. ...There! You just stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at me, didn't you?"

"...Yes."

"I'm _very_ proud."

Anora took her hand from his arm and bent herself in the appropriate curtsey. "Until your duties are complete, my king."

He bent himself in the appropriate bow, "And yours, my queen."

In the first corridor he knew would have no prying eyes in it, Alistair took just a moment to breathe. It had been a long, long time since he'd spared a thought for how things could have been.

Still, he thought to himself as he took the stairs to his daughter's room two at a time, it was surprising how nice it was — even after all these years — to know that it had worked out for someone.


End file.
